


Sun and Ice

by LaurelSilver



Series: Winter Wonderland [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Human AU, Rromani AU, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[From the Winter angst with a happy ending prompts] Ice breaks under the character but they're saved and there are blankets and hot chocolate and warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Flying Mint Bunny [a dog]  
> Arthur 'England' Kirkland [aged 15]  
> Antonio 'Spain' Fernandez Carriedo [aged 25]  
> Leonora 'Romano' Fernandez Carriedo [aged 23]  
> Turtle [a dog]

“F-M-B! No!” 

Flying Mint Bunny skids on the ice, yapping merrily. The sickening crack rings out, and Arthur freezes on the river bank. A long pauses, then Flying Mint Bunny yips as he falls, the ice crunching under him, water splashing.

Without thinking, Arthur dashes after him, shoes skidding on the ice. He barely registers the ice still cracking as he nears the hole.

The water closes over his head, freezing cold hitting his skin and stabbing deep like knives. Gasping for air that doesn’t come, Arthur thrashes, hands clawing at the dark, dense cold around him, thick coat waterlogged and heavy as it drags him down, Flying Mint Bunny treading water merrily just above him.

Something dark covers the light above him, and then Arthur’s being pulled upwards by the front of his coat. The air hits his lungs and he chokes, throat tight and teeth chattering.

The stranger, his jacket is sunshine yellow, drags Arthur over the ice to the bank before dropping him.

“Are you alright?” the stranger asks, accent rolling the r’s and bouncing on the vowels.

Arthur nods, trying to pull himself up.

The stranger grabs Arthur’s scarf, untying it and dumping it unceremoniously on the mud. He unbuttons Arthur’s coat, pulling it down and rubbing his hands up and down Arthur’s arms quickly.

“Flying…” Arthur mumbles, jaw still trembling uncontrollably, “Flying Mint Bunny!”

“Huh?” the stranger turns around, looking out to where Arthur is pointing, “Oh! Doggy! Here doggy! Over here doggy!”

Flying Mint Bunny hops out of the ice hole, shakes most of the water off his fur, and pads over, tongue lapping and tail wagging as if plunging into negative temperature waters is the most fun a dog could have.

Arthur stares at the retriever, slack jawed. The stranger rubs Flying Mint Bunny’s head. “He is cute!”

“He’s a little shit’s what he is,” Arthur grumbles.

“Do you live nearby?” the man asks.

“About an hour away on foot.”

“An hour!” the man seems shocked.

“I needed to get away from the siblings a while,” Arthur says, “I usually take F-M-B on a long walk when there’s arguments. I’m gone about three hours.”

The man sighs. “My park is near. You will not get black feet then, we will warm you up.”

“Park?”

The man pulls Arthur to his feet, pulling his coat back around him. The man’s own dog, a squat little thing, struts after its owner. Arthur puts Flying Mint Bunny’s leash on firmly and follows the man quickly.

The man lives, or is staying, in the field of a farmer just off the river. Several caravans stand in a loose, disorganised grid, the mud thick and slushy underfoot. The man’s caravan is a brilliant white on the outside and brightly coloured inside.

A woman, heavily pregnant, snaps at the man as he comes in. She looks Arthur up and down, clicks her tongue, and heads down the caravan, shutting herself in what Arthur presumes is a bedroom.

“Forgive my wife. She is… fiery!” the man stutters on his English, helping Arthur out of his coat, “I will get you dry clothes. Please wait.”

Arthur stands awkwardly on the doorstep, holding Flying Mint Bunny back from diving into the caravan still wet. Heat radiates from inside, torturously inviting.

The man returns with clothes, towels and blankets. “Take your shoes off, please.”

Arthur pulls his shoes off, stepping into the caravan as the man gestures for him to. The man catches Flying Mint Bunny in a thick blanket as the retriever dashes inside. 

Changing quickly, Arthur sits down. The man’s clothes, a tank shirt and joggers [wifebeater and sweatpants] are too large on him, baggy on his hips and shirt loose. The man has also changed his clothes, only in joggers, showing off a well toned figure and sunny skin.

“Thank you,” Arthur says quickly as the man looks up from wrapping up/playing with Flying Mint Bunny.

“I can not let you just sink,” the man says calmly.

“You saved my life.”

“I can not let you just sink,” the man repeats.

Arthur frowns slightly, but lets it drop. “Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.”

“Antonio Fernandez Carriedo! The beautiful lady is Leonora Fernandez Carriedo. And this is Turtle!” he holds up his dog, who sits merrily in his hands.

“Flying Mint Bunny,” Arthur gestures to his own idiot dog.

“I put your clothes to dry,” Antonio says, gathering up Arthur’s wet clothes, “Do you like hot chocolate?”

Honestly Arthur prefers tea, but he’s not going to be so rude to the man who literally saved his life. “Yes, hot chocolate is lovely.”

Antonio disappears down the caravan. When he comes out of the room he’d put the clothes in, probably the bathroom, he knocks on the door to the bedroom, speaking in rapid Spanish to Leonora. He comes back to the kitchen, an open kitchen halfway down the caravan, and fills a small pan with milk. But instead of adding a chocolate powder, he scoops in two heaped spoons of a chocolate spread before igniting the stove.

“You are in school, yes?” Antonio strikes up conversation.

“Uh… yes. GCSEs,” Arthur answers, still a little jolted by the chocolate spread in the milk, “Literature, language and history.”

Antonio nods, obviously not fully understanding.

“So… England? Why are you travelling to England? Especially with a pregnant wife?” A little blunt, yes, but Arthur’s curious.

“We want our baby to go to a good English school,” Antonio says, “Good school.”

Arthur almost laughs.

“I hope baby is born on Chrismas,” Antonio says, “It would be magic.”

“Do you have a name?” Arthur asks, derailing the conversation away from school, “For the baby, I mean.”

“Jesús or Maria,” Antonio says, beaming, “If they is a boy or a girl.”

Again, Arthur almost laughs. Talk about generic Christmas names! “They’re lovely names.”

Antonio, still visibly bursting with happiness, stirs the milk in the pan. “Leonora!”

The bedroom door opens, Leonora almost stomping as she walks, the caravan shaking on its weak, muddy tethers. She sits down at the table, hand rubbing her swollen belly idly as Antonio passes her a steaming mug of the milk mixture.

Arthur accepts his own mug with a quiet “Thank you.” The drink looks like a regular hot chocolate drink, pale brown and milky. It’s sweet and a little nutty, burning Arthur’s tongue.

Arthur stays for a couple of hours while his clothes dry off, warming up. Leonora’s English is slightly stronger than Antonio’s, discussing Shakespeare and typical Biblical allusions with Arthur as Antonio plays with the dogs and a knotted piece of rope. The early winter sun sets, pink and yellow dancing over the ice.


End file.
